


Heartblood

by RussianWitch



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff, Imprisonment, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Bondage, Predicament Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 08:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Will doesn't know how he got to the room, doesn't remember anything after killing Dolarhyde, after giving into Hannibal and falling. Trapped in a small, dark room he waits for Hannibal to come visit.





	Heartblood

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd

"I keep wondering if I'm supposed to be the Christmas pig getting fattened up, or—," Will bares his teeth in a parody of a smile, but Chiyo is used to worse, she's used to Hannibal's games, and to ignoring everything his prisoners have to say. 

"The cast will be removed, in time," she answers when she's done, much to his surprise, "you are healing well." She pats the cast on his left leg and gathers her equipment and leaves.

He stays behind, trapped in a small, dark room—waiting.

Will doesn't know how he got to the room, doesn't remember anything after killing Dolarhyde, after giving into Hannibal and falling. He hasn't seen Hannibal since waking, only Chiyo coming in at random intervals to take care of him.

Will—is actually bored enough to _want_  Hannibal to come and—distract him from the itching of his stitches at the very least.

He'd always been solitary because other people spilled their problems without even realizing saddling Will with their unwanted emotions. That, he grudgingly admits, has always been the relaxing thing about Hannibal: he didn't leak anything he didn't intend for people to pick up on. To Will spending time around Hannibal, is almost like spending time with the dogs: neither Hannibal nor the dogs strain him or want him to be anything else but himself.

The dogs don't care if he screams himself awake several times a night, or that he occasionally forgets who he is; the dogs know better than him, and Hannibal considers it additional entertainment.

"You are not a toy, Will," The killer objects from the dark, "nor a "Christmas pig"," Hannibal doesn't show himself, he could be a hallucination, not that Will particularly cares.

"Aren't I? Held in a dark, cramped space, fed and watered—waiting for the big day!" He raises himself on his elbows squinting at the shadows.

"Do you really expect to be slaughtered?" Hannibal sounds closer, when the match strikes and a candle is lit, he's standing at the foot of Will's bed, looking naked in casual clothing. The sweater looks so soft Will wants to bury his face in it, the softness makes the man look more regal, it makes Will thirsty.

"You tried to eat my brain!" He snaps, shoving the softer thoughts away, "told me that you would eat my heart while gutting me! It isn't exactly an unreasonable assumption." Even as the words leave his throat, Will already knows what Hannibal will counter with.

"I would have you with me," the monster admits freely, because if he couldn't have Will in life—it seems Hannibal is perfectly alright with having him in death. Hannibal settles on the bed, studying Will's cast with amused curiosity, long fingers dragging along the rough surface to flick Will's bare toes.

Will jumps, as best he can, curses and sits up trying to grab at Hannibal's arm.

"You are ticklish," Hannibal notes with a childlike, evil little smile. It's a smile Will has never seen him smile before, and he's seen Hannibal amused, delighted, pleased, passionate—but Will has never seen the monster quite this—happy.

"I'm also mobile enough to hurt you if you try it," Will tells him, but what he really wants to do, is reach out and pull Hannibal down to lay beside him.

"You only have to ask," Hannibal's smile softens, and then he's right where Will doesn't want him; stretched out along Will's side, warm and heavy enough to have Will rolling into him. This isn't what he wants, Will tells himself as he clutches at the ridiculously soft sweater jerking and pulling until he can lay a hand on warm, furry skin under it.

This—is not how things were supposed to end, but Hannibal being Hannibal there were plans within plans and this time no one is going to come for Will, no one is going to fish him out of the quagmire he's sinking into, Hannibal dragging him down like a millstone shackled to his leg.

"Are my legs actually broken?" Will asks not for the first time, and Hannibal ignores him once again, burying his face in Will's throat, his hand splayed across the jagged scar on Will's abdomen, fingertips under the sheet covering his 'modesty'.

"Does it matter?" Hannibal asks.

"Considering—everything?" He isn't sure if it does, but the boredom matters, the lack of anything to do except wander around in his own mind, occasionally springing traps he'd even forgotten were there in the first place, "I probably shouldn't," if he ever manages to escape and get back to Jack—, questions will have to be answered, therapists to be seen and most likely jail time of the one type or another served, "but lacking anything better to do—," he wants to roll over, demand that Hannibal show his back, he wants to see the brand moving and twisting over Hannibal's muscle as he moves.

"Would you like to see?" Hannibal asks, already sitting up and Will realizes he'd been—groping, the sweater really is very nice to the touch.

"I'm surprised you didn't have it removed," Will rises on his elbows again, hands already itching to touch as the sweater is pulled up tortuously slow, like a striptease. The brand hasn't fully healed yet, it's still red and inflamed looking, when Will traces the edge of it with his finger—Hannibal shudders and twists from under his touch.

"It does not matter," he shrugs, "scars fade." He traces the jagged edges of the ones he'd left on Will's abdomen, "they are only as important as we allow them to be." He leans down, his hot breath tickling Will's skin, his hair tickling his abdomen.

"I remember hearing a joke once, about the ultimate act of courage for a man," Will says, distracting himself from undesirable expectations.

"Is that an offer?" Hannibal looks up, looking— thoughtful.

"You know, when Bedelia confirmed you were in love with me, I didn't think it was _physical_ ," or possibly neglected to think about that part. Sex had never ended well for him, and it was simply easier not to think about it most of the time. He had thought about Hannibal, about all the ways he could have ripped the man apart for landing him in the loony bin, and then later on—he'd thought of other ways he could get even. Sitting up, he traces the sharp cheekbone of the predator who smiles and leans into the touch, nips at Will's fingers and down to close his lips around the protruding bone of Will's wrist. Any moment now, he will feel teeth sink in, hot blood will gush down his under arm and Hannibal's satisfied growls will accompany him into the darkness of death.

"Shall I stop?" the monster wonders, mouthing his way up and down Will's inner arm.

"I want—to have never met you, I think, but—," he twists his arm away from Hannibal's mouth, grabbing him by the hair, forcing him up until they are face to face again. Hannibal's face is so familiar, that part of Will is surprised when he doesn't see it in the mirror every morning, "at the moment, I want to get off."

He closes his eyes, breathes through all the reasons he shouldn't be doing what he's about to do, and brushes their lips together. Hannibal's lips feel soft against his chapped ones, they part willingly, encouragingly, enticing Will to stick his tongue in the monster's mouth.

Will can see himself drowning in blood with Hannibal hovering over him licking his chops, his tongue making its way down to Hannibal's stomach. He bites first, pulls on Hannibal's bottom lip, tightens his grip on Hannibal's hair just in case he tries to pull away. The monster allows himself to be handled because it amuses him to be ordered around by Will, skin on skin, Hannibal's hand in Will's hair mirroring his grip, their free hands interlacing.

Will can almost forget he's held prisoner. Hannibal whispers indistinct words against his mouth in something that's probably Italian, lyrical and rough the way the monster pronounces it.

When he pulls away, Will growls in frustration, clawing at the monster's arms to pull him back until a none script tube is waved in front of his face. He feels a blush spread across his cheeks and down to his chest. Touching Hannibal, giving into him, and the physical mechanics of the act he's demanded—A metal tube is tossed on his chest as Hannibal rolls off of him, dropping his sweatpants un-self-consciously letting Will look his fill. He reaches out, caressing a powerful thigh, trailing his fingers over furry skin until his hand closes around a hard cock.

Soft skin covers a hard core, the half-hidden head a shade darker than the flushed skin, he rubs the pad of his thumb across the slit and is rewarded by a bead of fluid seeping out to connect them, and the flesh swelling in his hand. It isn't an unfamiliar sensation, but an unfamiliar shape and angle is different, it's nice, in fact, and the way Hannibal's eyes fall half-closed smoldering from under his lashes starts an answering smolder at the base of Will's spine.

"So, how are we doing this?" He wonders, the mechanics considering his cast escaping him somewhat.

"Lie back, Will," the monster purrs, straddling Will's hips his dick swaying mesmerizingly. Will wants to take him in hand again, wrap both his hands around the shaft and feel it throb and twitch in his grasp.

Hannibal toys with the tube, coating his fingers with the clear, slick gel, and Will's breath catches as the monster reaches back with a soft grunt, his body arching beautifully. He rises to his knees, and Will takes him up on the invitation, brushing past the heavy balls, between Hannibal's legs to find the opening there.

Their finger brush, tangling for an instant as Will explores the slickness coating the orifice and Hannibal's fingers, the way the monster's body opens up _for him._ Hannibal's fingers close around Will's dick, and between the two of them, they guide it into Hannibal. He gasps, looking away, closing his eyes and still Hannibal sinking onto his flesh, seeing them pale in the darkness of the room.

Will searches blindly for Hannibal's hands, grabbing tight when they are offered. Hannibal's weight on him anchors Will to the world, to the bed in the dim little room, to the need that makes his blood boil. When Hannibal moves, raising himself on his knees, his body pulsing around Will's dick and taking him even deeper as he skins down, all of it makes Will's head spin.

He raises his arms, makes Hannibal lean in, covering him completely, melting them together until it almost feels like they are the same twisted creature. 

Hannibal's breath is hot on Will's throat, his teeth so close that anyone sane would push the monster away, Will, on the other hand, arches into the deadly mouth spurring the monster on without words. 

They don't hurry towards release, feeding on each other's pleasure as the world fades away.

The freedom of it is staggering, the freedom to feel and know he's allowed to let go and the monster will keep him safe. 

Their lips meet, tongues tangling, when Will tastes blood, he isn't sure who bit down first and finds it doesn't really matter anyway. 

Will curses, hating not being able to move. He wants to roll over, get on his knees and fuck Hannibal while holding him down, wants to tie him to the bed and return the favors bestowed on him, but the casts on his legs make it impossible and that makes him want to scream much to, he knows, Hannibal's enjoyment.

"I enjoy everything about you, Will." The monster whispers, guiding their hands to his dick, using Will's hand as he's using Will's dick. He tightens his hand to the point that is should be painful, but Hannibal only smiles and bends down to suck a bruise over Will's heart.

"You enjoy driving me insane," Will pants, Hannibal's dick sliding through his hands unexpectedly arousing, "weren't you getting me off?" He adds, twisting his hand and digging the edge of his nail into the tender spot just under the head to watch the monster gasp. His control is slipping, another mask falling and Will is coming, foreign thoughts and wild notions pouring into his mind, blooming like crimson flowers, spreading like the plague. Hannibal has to hold him down to keep WIll from shaking apart and bucking them off the bed.

"Have you ever imagined watching me eat _your_ heart?" He pants, laughing when Hannibal tightens almost painfully around him, spilling into his hands. Will keeps on laughing as Hannibal slumps, over him, untangling them clumsily and collapses half on top of him panting wetly against his throat. 


End file.
